


Hope

by zillah975



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah975/pseuds/zillah975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What if you can never defeat them? What if there are too many, too strong, what if they just -- just destroy everything, destroy your brother, your wife, your comrades, all your people?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before SGA 2.04, "Condemned", and in T.A. 3018, shortly after East Osgiliath has fallen to the forces of Mordor.

For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me. In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear....  
_Fellowship Of The Ring, The Council of Elrond_

***

Ronon picks his way through the rubble and down the hill to the wide, overgrown boulevard below. He remembers deciding to come here, but he doesn't remember stepping through the Ring, and now he can't see it anymore. He must have come a lot farther than he thought.

Sateda looks strange in the misty moonlight. The buildings seem blurred at the edges and shimmering into each other, like they're hiding inside the outlines of other buildings. Tall, ghostly buildings, gleaming white, he can almost make them out, but when he looks at them direct, they dissolve in the fog. Ronon feels heavy and wonders if maybe Atlantis has lighter gravity than Sateda, maybe he's just not used to it. It's been so long since he was here.

Sheppard would be angry if he knew Ronon had left the city. Thinking about it now, Ronon's not sure how he did; the Gate technician shouldn't have let him go, and he doesn't remember asking. But whatever, Atlantis will never be home, and Ronon needed -- _needed_ \-- to come home. He just wishes he could remember why.

Clouds are gathering on the horizon, a storm coming. He should find shelter soon. He moves carefully through the shattered street.

***

"Ah, there." Boromir grins and pushes aside a stone from the collapsed roof of the tavern. Beneath it lies a wooden cask, and he heaves it up onto the ruined bar beside his lantern and works the stopper out. The fragrant odor of sweet red wine wafts upward. He turns to look for a whole cup among the crockery that's shattered on the floor.

It should seem strange to be here now, he knows that, strange that the cask is undamaged after all this time, and stranger yet that the city lies so empty. East Osgiliath is fallen, but West Osgiliath is still defended, there should be soldiers everywhere. Instead it's blessedly quiet.

Booted feet approach the broken doorway and Boromir turns. No Orc, though, confronts him; just a man, tall and slim and broad-shouldered and wary.

"I thought I would be drinking alone," Boromir says. "What company are you with? One of Faramir's Rangers?"

But when the man steps closer, Boromir sees he is no soldier, at least none of Gondor. No armor protects him, only a leather coat and a strange-looking sword of his own. His hair is long, woven like rope and laced with trinkets, and falling around his face.

***

"What are you doing here?" Ronon asks.

"Me?" The stranger chuckles. "Searching for wine. What are you doing here? The enemy is as close as the eastern bank. You're no soldier, you should be at home, or in the city."

Ronon scowls at him. "This is my home," though even as he says it, he wonders if it's true. Home it may be, but not one he can live in. Not anymore. "And I'm still a soldier. The city's just...just a place to stay for a while."

"No soldier of mine," the man says, but he doesn't say it like an accusation. He's come up with a pair of cups, and he's wiping them off with the edge of his cloak. "But if this is your home, then soldier you must be. None but soldiers have lived here in many lifetimes. Drink with me. We'll drink to the future of this shattered jewel."

"What future?" Ronon asks, but comes closer. "Who are you?"

The man looks at him for a second, like he can't believe the question. "My name is Boromir," he says finally, then laughs and shakes his head, and offers a cup to Ronon. "And who are you?"

"Ronon Dex." He takes the cup. "You're not Satedan."

"And you are not of Gondor," Boromir answers. "Perhaps we are both strangers tonight."

Ronon raises the cup. The wine is cool, sweeter than he likes, and strange, but good. "So why are you here?" he asks. "If the enemy's so close, shouldn't _you_ be back in the city?"

Boromir's laugh is a snort of startled amusement, and Ronon scowls again. "Perhaps I should," he says. "Perhaps I am."

Ronon raises an eyebrow. "You don't think you're really here?"

There's a pause, and then Boromir smiles, like he's smiling at a private joke. "Too many hours listening to my brother. He talks of dreams as if they're real, and now I wonder if I'm dreaming."

***

"Your brother a mystic?" Ronon asks.

Boromir shakes his head, though perhaps 'mystic' is as good a word for Faramir's turn of mind as any. "He is a scholar, a philosopher. And a soldier." He sighs, and leans against the bar, turning the cup in his hands.

"That's kind of a mystic," Ronon offers, and Boromir chuckles.

"Perhaps. He has dreamed something which he thinks could bring help to our people, if he can find the meaning of it. He wants to travel to Imladris, though no one can tell where it is." He looks at Ronon. "Do you...?"

Ronon shakes his head. "Never heard of it. It must be through the Ring."

"North is all we know, and I question even that. It may be no more than a tale."

"What's he think he's going to find there?"

"Counsel," Boromir says after a moment. He doesn't know why he answers, doesn't know why his caution has left him. Something in the stranger's eyes, perhaps, or the strange night air. "A sword, a sign, we do not know. Even our father cannot decipher the riddle."

"Doesn't sound like much reason to go."

Boromir bites back a sharp retort. "It would be many weeks of travel, and he is needed here. But if it were true," he goes on, "if there were aid or hope to be found in the north, it would be worth much. It would be worth the journey."

***

Ronon snorts. "Would it? Look around you, the place is ruined, deserted. Everyone who lived here has run off or died. There's no one to rebuild for, even if we could rebuild. What kind of help do you think you'll find?"

Boromir stands to his full height and looks at Ronon with narrowed eyes, and Ronon's hand twitches towards the butt of his gun. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. "As long as my people survive, as long as one child of the West draws breath, that is reason enough. That is worth everything."

A low rumble of thunder rolls across the sky. Through the broken roof Ronon can see lightning flash in the distance. "Is it?" he asks. "What if you can never defeat them? What if there are too many of them, too strong, what if they just -- just destroy everything, destroy your brother, your wife, your comrades, all your people?"

"Then I will keep fighting with what allies I can find," Boromir says. He leans forward and looks Ronon in the eyes, but his fierce expression is open again like he's forgotten that Ronon just insulted his home. "It is worth everything, and it is not only Gondor that faces this peril, but Rohan as well, and all the lands of the West. If hope is to be found in the north, then we must seek it there."

***

"Sounds like you talked yourself into it," Ronon says.

Boromir chuckles and shakes his head. "Perhaps. But I do not wish to send Faramir on such a journey."

"Why, if it's worth everything?"

"He is my brother," Boromir answers. It's the only answer he has.

"Then I guess it isn't worth him."

"And you?" Boromir asks, irritated. The stranger is right, and it galls him. The world is worth everything, everything except Faramir. "Are you content to leave the ruins of your home and never make the enemy pay a price for the destruction?"

"I didn't say that," Ronon answers in a growl. "But my people _are_ dead. I would have found them by now if there were any to be found!"

"The city is filled with people," Boromir says, gesturing towards Minas Tirith, to the Pelennor, and Rohan, and the lands beyond. "This city is in ruins, yes, but this is not the only city! And can we not rebuild even here, if we defeat this threat?"

***

Another crack of thunder, and the clouds are heavy with rain. Boromir stands there staring at him like he's waiting for an answer.

"Storm's coming in from the east," Ronon says. But in his heart he's hearing Teyla's words, over and over. _Atlantis is the best hope for us all. I suspect you see it too, or you would have already left._ "Probably ought to find better shelter than this."

Boromir shakes his head and puts his cup down. "There is no shelter from the storm that comes except to face it together."

"And to look for hope where you can find it."

They step out into the wide street, beneath the open sky. Darkness has covered the moon, but a pale light is turning the clouds on western horizon to silver. "Look," Ronon says. "The sun is rising."

Though of course it can't be the sun.

Boromir touches his shoulder. "Listen," he says. "Listen. Do you hear it?"

***

Ronon opens his eyes. Sunlight is streaming in through the painted windows of his quarters, and he can hear the cry of the sea birds that make their nests in the tall spires of Atlantis.

Threads of the dream catch at him, but vanish like spiderwebs when he sits up. He scrubs a hand over his face. His door chimes and he answers "Come" without thinking. It hisses open.

"Up and at 'em," Sheppard says, leaning in the doorway. "We're checking out a new planet today, need the whole team."

After a while, Ronon nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay. That sounds good."

***

"Faramir."

His brother looks up, and Boromir comes into the room. Faramir frowns. "What is it?"

Boromir hesitates. "We should speak with Denethor again. Faramir, I have had your dream."


End file.
